


Apologies by Sherlock Holmes

by ad0rably_0rdinary



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes - fandom, john watson - Fandom, johnlock - Fandom
Genre: Cuddly Sherlock, Implied Johnlock, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Worried Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-10 04:17:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2010654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ad0rably_0rdinary/pseuds/ad0rably_0rdinary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock sends John off with harsh words, and Sally points out that if he keeps it up, John could leave him. Worried Sherlock ensues, and he blunders his way into a cuddly apology.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apologies by Sherlock Holmes

It's not the first time that Sherlock has snapped something at John that made the other man press his lips together in a thin line and leave without so much as a 'not good' in parting. To be honest, Sherlock barely noticed the doctors departure, choosing instead to focus back on the corpse that was found drained of all its blood and missing its left foot. It was only when the obnoxious throat clearing behind him burst through his whirring thoughts of what shampoo the victim was using, that he realized someone was trying, rather annoyingly, to get his attention. 

With a quick, jerky movement, he turned his head, sneering at Sally who had appeared behind him with her arms crossed defensively over her chest and a disapproving look sullying her face that never seemed to go away when he was around. 

It took him about three seconds to tear her apart, eyes glittering coldly as he did so. 

"Anderson's wife is out of town then?" he snarled, not bothering to tiptoe around her if she wanted to so rudely interrupt The Work. His observation had her wincing a bit, but instead of sending her stalking away to go complain to the DI about his behavior, she merely took a deep breath and shook her curls from her face before speaking. 

"You hurt his feelings." Her voice was mocking, scraping against the inside of his skull, almost enough to prompt a vicious headache that would pain him for days on end. 

"I assure you I have no idea what you're blathering on about." 

"John. When you snap at him like that, call him an idiot, it hurts him. He's the only one who can stand being around you for more than five minutes, maybe you should treat him better." Apparently satisfied with herself, she turned to leave, but paused, looking back over her shoulder at Sherlock who was still crouched on the ground with his magnifier clutched tightly in his gloved hand. 

"He doesn't have to stay with you, you know." With that last parting blow, she was gone in a click of heels and nauseating smell of men's deodorant, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the corpse. 

Huffing to himself, he turned back to the task at hand, working to push Donovan's idiotic chatter out of his head. He tried to focus on the body, truly he did, but his eyes kept glazing over and his mind wandered to John instead of the drag patterns and lack of blood, so finally he pushed himself to his feet and sought out Lestrade. 

"What've you got for me?" The DI was tired, still dealing with the divorce by drinking himself into a stupor every night and having to drag himself awake in the morning. Sherlock knew the signs of addiction when he saw them, having been an addict for a good portion of his life. Instead of pointing out the damage the other man was doing to his liver, Sherlock chose to speak quietly when he answered, so as to not aggravate the DI's headache. 

"This is not the scene of the crime, the body was dragged here approximately two hours after death. There's only one set of shoe prints, men's size eight, so the scene can't be far from here. Find the scene, I'm guessing an unused warehouse, and you'll find the foot and the blood. Possibly the murderer as well. Got to run," Before Lestrade could so much as open his mouth to protest, Sherlock was gone, walking briskly down the road and holding his hand up for a cab. 

One stopped for him almost immediately, and he clambered inside, not bothering with social niceties and merely snapping out the address. John would have chided him, then apologized to the driver for his rude behavior, but John wasn't here, he'd sent John away with his words, possibly hurting his feelings in the process. 

Donovan, thick as she was, had been partially correct. John was the only person who had given Sherlock the time of day, who had looked past the sharp tongue and tendency to push people away, and _stayed_ , even cared for him without smothering him. The thought of living life without John's nagging, hideous jumpers and perfectly made cups of tea was unbearable. 

If he was being honest with himself, it was more the thought of being alone again after years of growing used to another human beings presence that scared him the most. John had somehow wormed his way into Sherlock's life, into his heart for God's sake, he could not just leave because he would be taking everything. 

"Oi. Hello? Anyone home?" Sherlock's gaze met the drivers in the rear-view mirror and the man tilted his head toward the window. 

"We're here." Apparently Sherlock had been so wrapped up in his distressing thoughts that he hadn't noticed the ride go by. With a curt nod of thanks and a handful of crumpled bills, Sherlock exited the cab and entered the building with a sick, heavy feeling in his stomach. 

The art of apologizing was something Sherlock had learned and mastered quite early, as it was a simple enough process and he had a lot of practice with it, being the kind of child he was. With a bat of his eyes and a soft murmur, maybe even a few tears if it was truly horrible, Sherlock had been able to just about get out of any repercussions of his actions. Still, this was different, it wasn't someone he had offended at one of mummy's parties, it was John, his John, and a simple 'I'm sorry' didn't feel like it would cut it. 

Sherlock ascended the stairs with ease, teeth worrying his lower lip ruthlessly as he pushed open the front door of their shared flat and slowly slipped his arms out of his heavy coat and hung it on the hook next to John's. He could smell the faint scent of freshly brewed tea, and knew John had to be sitting in his armchair, probably reading a novel or typing painfully slow on his laptop with a cup by his side. 

"John?" he kept his tone quiet, unthreatening, and walked into the living room, throwing himself down onto the couch with a huff. The other man didn't answer, didn't even look up, but kept his eyes trained firmly on the glowing screen, tongue poking out in-between his lips as he concentrated on his frustratingly slow typing. 

"John. I'm home." Sherlock spoke louder this time, his heart hammering painful and fast against his rib cage because it seemed like he'd already lost him, he'd already ruined the only friendship he had. 

"Saw that. Bit busy," John murmured, his eyes never straying from the screen and his lips resolutely not pulling up at the ends in a smile to welcome the detective home as they normally would have. Sherlock pushed himself up, eyebrows furrowing because he was panicking, scrambling to find something, anything to do to make this better. 

He thought of preparing John a cup of tea to express his sorry, but John already had one, still warm and more than half full. What else could he do? John liked tea, crap telly and… 

Sherlock's cheeks colored at the invading thought. John had expressed his fondness for 'cuddling' more than once, when he was blathering on about his latest girlfriend when he thought Sherlock was too immersed in an experiment to be truly listening to what he said. 

Making up his mind quickly and efficiently, Sherlock rose a bit unsteadily to his feet, and reached for John's laptop, plucking it neatly from the other mans grip and setting it safely on the coffee table behind him. 

"Sherlock, what in God's name are you-" John didn't get to finish his sentence because Sherlock was still moving, legs straddling the other man's thighs and nose nuzzling a bit tentatively into John's warm neck. His arms slipped under John's back, holding his friend in a loose grip that could be easily broken if John wished to escape. 

"Is there any particular reason you've decided to occupy my lap?" John's voice sounded muffled by Sherlock's hair, but the detective was pleased to note that it lacked any anger or disgust and instead held a tone of fond amusement. It seemed for once in his life, he had done the right thing. 

"It has come to my attention that I hurt your feelings at the crime scene." Sherlock answered languidly, deciding that he could see where John was coming from with the cuddling thing. It was quite pleasant, sharing body warmth and being able to feel John's heart beat against his chest. 

"Still not quite understanding," John prompted, though his arms had come up around Sherlock, hands smoothing soothingly across his back, further proving to the detective that this was something he would have to participate in regularly. 

"This is me apologizing." 

"You're bloody insane, you know that?" Again, the insult was softened by the adoring, almost loving tone of John's voice. Sherlock merely hummed in return, eyes slipping closed so he could categorize the scent of John's neck better, and focus on the comforting feeling of fingers scratching down his back. 

Yes, Sherlock could get used to this.

**Author's Note:**

> I worked relatively hard on this one, much harder than I have with any of my other stories. I hope you guys like it!


End file.
